


the verge

by wilfre



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Slow Burn, Smoking, kinda more like a medium speed burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19096867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilfre/pseuds/wilfre
Summary: spy gets caught in a storm and seeks refuge in sniper's van.he then finds himself getting caught inotherthings, like sniper's pretty blue-grey eyes.. oops!





	1. Chapter 1

A wet knock at the door of his camper.

Sniper grumbled as he sat up and abandoned his comfortable position, wondering who in the world would be seeking him out (of all people!) during a storm.

And of all the three billion people on Earth, of course it had to be _him._

The damned, one-and-only suited Frenchman was standing outside. Arms wrapped around himself, shivering, with an odd look on his face. Scornful yet pleading.

“You,” was all Sniper said.

Spy grit his teeth. “Me.”

But Sniper moved aside anyway, allowing the other man to step in. Spy may have been his mortal enemy, but he was a _teammate_ , and Sniper was a man of common courtesy (rule one: be polite). Spy murmured a barely-audible _thank you_ as he shut the door behind him.

“Err, stay there a second.” Sniper quickly climbed up to his bed; he rummaged around for a minute before hopping back down and holding out a towel and pile of clothes to the other.

Spy accepted the towel, seemingly ignoring everything else, and tried to soak up the moisture from his suit (which was dripping onto the floor, much to Sniper’s annoyance).

“Mate.” Sniper nudged the clothes towards him. “Take that stupid suit off before you get sick.”

Spy eyed the wrinkled pajamas, apparently not up to par with his exquisite taste. “You really expect me to wear _that?_ _Your_ clothes?”

“Listen. It wasn’t a question. I don’t want your soppin’ suit drippin’ on everythin’ in my van. Put these on.” He practically shoved the clothes into Spy’s chest this time, forcing him to take them. Spy unfolded the shirt and held it out at arm’s-length to inspect it, scrutinizing every thread of fabric, every piece of lint. He squinted.

“Why do you own a Builders League United shirt?”

“Long story. Just put it on.”

Spy huffed, turning away before reluctantly stripping off his suit jacket. So he wanted privacy, that was fine; Sniper turned as well and pretended to be busy in the kitchen. He was in the middle of a stare-off with a bottle of juice in his fridge when he heard a throat clear behind him. He stood up, and it takes all his effort not to snort at the sight in front of him: Spy— _perfect_ , ladykiller, “you got blood on my suit” Spy, standing before him in the lamest garb in the history of garb. A faded BLU shirt, plaid pajama pants, and—if he had taken them—heart print boxers. He'd rather be dead than caught wearing this. Sniper couldn’t help it, he cracked a smile. Spy did quite the opposite. He held his carefully folded damp suit out, which Sniper took and placed on the edge of the sink. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spy wince. He’ll be having nightmares about his poor suit for sure.

Sniper vaguely gestured to his own head. “You’ve still got the..”

“The balaclava,” Spy finished for him, “yes, I know.”

“You shouldn’t sleep with a wet head, mate.”

“Says who?”

“Err, me, I guess.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to value your opinion?”

Sniper’s expression darkened. “Watch it. I don’t have to stand here and take your shit, y’know. I can kick you out anytime.”

Spy raised his eyebrows as if to say _would you, really?_ but doesn’t let out another bitter retort. There was a distant boom of thunder, and the rain beat down harder.

“You can take the bed, if you’d like,” Sniper offered, doing a complete 180 in demeanor, to which Spy scoffed.

“No thank you.” He bit back yet another sour retort. He decided he’s pushed it enough tonight; he really, _really_ doesn’t wanna go back into that rain. “The couch is just fine.”

“Really?” Sniper climbed up to his bed and pulled out an extra blanket and pillow as Spy settled down on the couch, rubbing at his mask with the towel. “Just a warning, you’re gonna be a little too long for it.”

“Then the same applies to you, mon ami.” He graciously took the blanket and stretched out to find out that he was, in fact, too long for the couch. “You’re too long for it as well, and I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable in your own home, would I?”

Sniper chuckled as he turned off the light. “Well, nothing’s stopped you before. G'night, then.”

Spy coughed, watching the other man head back up to his bed. “..Goodnight.”

He laid there uncomfortably, and not just because of the couch situation; there was an odd feeling in his chest that came with being in an unfamiliar environment. Oh, how he wished to be back in the base, sitting comfortably by his fireplace, dry and wearing his own clothes, preferably nursing a glass of wine and a book.. The fantasy worsened the churning of his stomach. He just _had_ to get caught in the stupid storm, and Sniper’s van just _had_ to be the closest shelter. He rolled over after a few minutes, and realized Sniper is already snoring. Lucky bastard. There was an uncomfortable tickle in the back of his throat; he groaned quietly to himself as he struggled to get comfortable.

It was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

Spy woke up with an awful feeling in his throat, and an even worse feeling in his head. He sat up with a groan and immediately felt snot running down his lip. He warily wiped it away with his finger.

Sniper peeked over from the kitchen area. "Mornin', sleepin' beauty. You sleep well?"

"Not at all, thank you for asking." His voice was gruff and phlegmy; he cleared his throat to no avail. He was cursed, he must be!

"Coffee?"

"Oui."

" _Oui,"_ Sniper mocked, pulling out a second mug. "How do you take it?"

For some reason, Spy struggled to find the right words. All he could focus on was the pounding in his head and the dryness in his throat; he didn’t care, at that point he just wanted something to drink. He settled on "However."

Sniper poured him a cup, mixing in a minimal amount of cream and sugar.

“Here you go.” He placed the cup on the table in front of Spy. He cradled the cup with both hands, which were weak and unsteady. Taking a sip, the hot liquid nearly scorched his tongue and filled his mouth with a slightly bitter flavor. He sighed, the scratchiness in his throat soothed for the time being.

The radio came to life with a soft buzz. Sniper fiddled with the knobs until it settled on a station he liked.

_—ckin’ up good vibrations_

_She’s givin’ me excitations_

_I’m pickin’ up good vibrations_

He snapped along to the rhythm, albeit a bit off. Spy hid his smile behind his cup.

Sniper swayed gently as he nursed his own coffee, hips gyrating, shirt riding up _just_ enough to expose the tiniest amount of skin..

Spy felt dizzy. He laid back down, scrunching his eyes shut and rubbing his temples, causing Sniper to stop his one-man dance party.

“You alright?”

His voice sounded distant, though he was only a few feet away. Spy groaned; even the pressure from just laying his head on the pillow was uncomfortable. But he really, _really_ didn’t wanna sit up. “Je suis malade,” he managed, each word a struggle to get out. Sniper had a puzzled expression and no idea what he just said, but he figured it couldn’t be good. He leaned over the other man, gingerly placing the back of his hand to Spy’s forehead. Even through the balaclava, Sniper could feel he was burning up.

“Jeez.” He sounded more distant than before. Spy heard him shuffle over to the kitchen, turn the sink on, and shuffle back. He felt something cold being pressed against his head, which made his eyes flutter open.

“Urghh,” Spy grumbled, reaching up to feel a cold rag. His hand replaced Sniper’s; he barely managed to hold it in place. “Ma tête..”

"Spy?" Sniper was hovering over him with a blatantly concerned look on his face. "Hey, I'm gonna go get some stuff from Medic, alright? Stay there."

He blinked, and Sniper was suddenly holding a bottle with mysterious contents. Well, it wasn't much of a mystery; it was cold medicine, as the label said. But to Spy's jumbled mind, the writing may as well have been hieroglyphs.

"Can you sit up?" Sniper tentatively placed a hand on the other man's shoulder, ready to help if need be. Normally, Spy would swat him away, but he was too sick to do so. He slowly sat up, head spinning and vision momentarily fading as he did. "Here."

Spy was vaguely aware of a small plastic cup being pushed into his hands, filled with liquid from the bottle. He brought it to his lips, nearly recoiling at the taste that was beyond bitter. He choked it down and felt a bigger cup being handed to him _—_ his coffee from earlier. It tasted like the sweetest nectar compared to the harsh medicine. He slumped back into the couch once he finished off the cup. Sniper took it and refilled it with water, and by the time he placed it on the table, Spy was knocked out.

 

It was dark when he woke up. He felt a bit less congested than earlier; he sat up, sniffling, and a pleasant aroma made its way past the blockade of snot. The radio was still softly humming, and past that, he could hear the patter of rain against the camper.

_Sandman, I'm so alone_

_Don't have nobody to call my own_

_Please turn on your magic beam_

_Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream_

Perhaps he was in hell and this was his eternal punishment.

The sizzle of meat against a skillet. Spy stood up, his legs a bit shaky, and headed to the kitchen with the blanket wrapped around him.

Sniper was too engrossed in cooking and halfheartedly singing along to notice the other man until he was _right_ there.

"Gah! _—_ " Sniper jumped, earning a half chuckle, half cough from the other. "Didn't realize you were up, mate. Hey, go sit back down, I'll bring you some food."

Spy shambled back to the couch, blanket dragging behind him. He didn't have much of an appetite, but the smell of food brought out a faint growl from his stomach. He tugged at his _—_ well, Sniper's _—_ shirt, a bit sticky with sweat from his.. power nap. He winced. He couldn't wait to get back to base, take a shower, and sleep in his own bed (which was very luxurious, by the way).

After a few more minutes, Sniper placed a bowl of stew in front of Spy and a large plate of bread, vegetables, fish, and other mystery meat in front of himself as he settled down.

Spy prodded at a carrot with his spoon. "Wha _—_ " He choked on his words, coughing for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing. "..Excuse me. What kind is this?"

"Beef," Sniper answered through a mouthful of meat. He gestured vaguely to his own plate. "You can have some of this if you want. There's more of everythin' on the stove, too. Figured some soup or somethin' might be good for your cold, but err, I didn't have any. So I made the next best thing."

Spy nodded, bringing the spoon to his lips. "Thank you." He received a rich bite of meat, potatoes, and carrots. The flavor melted on his tongue as he slowly savored each component. He nearly spluttered when he realized Sniper had been watching him the whole time.

“Is it good?”

Spy quickly swallowed, followed by a small cough. “Yes, thank you.”

Sniper nudged his plate closer. “Have some bread, mate.” Spy shyly plucked the smallest piece from the plate, dunking it into his stew. He’d really rather be at base right now—he hated overstaying his welcome. But hey, for what it was worth, Sniper was good company and a good host.

“I guess you’ll be stuck here another night,” Sniper mused, cutting up pieces of fish. “Another bloody storm’s passin’ by. But—” He punctuated the word with a point of his fork in Spy’s direction. “—we don’t have to sit here wankin’ off.”

“Oh? I thought that was all you did with your spare time.”

Sniper grinned. At least the other man was feeling well enough to insult him. “Piss off. Anyway, what I was tryin’ to say is: do you wanna play cards or somethin’ when we’re done? Anythin’ to pass the time.”

A smile. “I’d like that, bushman.”

 

By the time they were finished eating, the storm was practically coming down hard enough to rock the camper. Sniper sat across from Spy, on the floor (he didn’t mind, he assured Spy) as he shuffled a deck of cards. The radio cut in and out.

 _L is f_ ——— _ay you_ — _ook at me_

 _O is for the only o_ —— _I_ —

 _V is_ — _ery, very, extraordinary_

———— _ore than anyone that you can adore can_

Sniper sipped his tea. “Got any threes?”

“Go fish.”

 _Love is a_ —— _at I can give to you_

— _ve is more than_ _—s_ _t a g_ _a_ _me for two_

 _Two in l_ —— _c_ — _make it_

— _ake my_ — _eart and please don't_ — _reak it_

 _Love_ _w_ —— _made for m_ — _and you_

They played several rounds of different games until Sniper felt the beginnings of sleep tugging at his eyes. He yawned, stretching his arms behind his head, his lifted shirt revealing a soft stretch of skin. Spy’s eyes lingered a second too long.

“I’m gonna hit the hay,” Sniper murmured. “You should, too. Then we can get you the hell outta here first thing tomorrow. Or whenever the storm lets up; whichever comes first.” He stood up, stretching again, tossing his cards onto the table. “I’ll clean up tomorrow. G’night.”

“Wait—” Spy reached out, making the other man pause in his climb up to bed. He raised an eyebrow. “About your bed.. Is the offer still open?”

Sniper smirked, hopping back down. “Of course, mate. Didn’t have that much fun on the couch, I take it?”

“Not at all,” Spy snickered, carefully heading up to the loft. “Goodnight, bushman.”

“Night,” Sniper repeated, cozying up on the couch (well, as cozy he could get, being way too long for it and all). The rain had slowed a bit at this point, the radio more consistent as well. His mind wasn’t exactly racing, but he had a lot to think about; his thoughts ended up lingering on the man sleeping in his bed.

It was definitely weird to see Spy like this: mostly docile and weak, when he was usually an arrogant prick (for lack of a better word). It was kinda nice, too. For once, he wasn’t plagued with the constant fear that he’d be stabbed in the back. Even though they were on the same team, there’d still been a few.. _incidents_ between them. Nothing _too_ personal, really—everyone on the team had beef with someone else in one way or another. Sniper had always thought him and Spy were destined to hate each other, but maybe they just got off on the wrong foot and continued stumbling. Now they were regaining balance, and all because Spy happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe it was the right place at the right time..?

He couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Spy’s soft snores. Whichever it was, Sniper was glad he ended up here. The radio hummed as he drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u comment i will kiss u


	3. Chapter 3

Spy had never been so glad to be back at base.

The first thing he did was make a beeline for the bathroom. Oh, how he longed for a nice relaxing bubble bath.. Maybe he'd sweet talk Miss Pauling later about getting one installed in his personal bathroom. But, he was kind of pushing it with having his own bathroom in the first place (nobody else did, shhh!). Hmm. Oh well, he'd figure something out; he was smooth like that. In the meantime, he had to settle for his shower. He scrubbed at his skin and lathered up his greasy hair, rinsing and repeating twice for good measure. When he was done, the whole bathroom was filled with steam, and it billowed out into his room as he opened the door.

He nearly cried as he jumped onto his bed, embracing the cushy mattress and lush blankets. He kissed his suit before he put it on. Practically made out with it, actually, but that was his little secret. Hell, it may have been early afternoon, but he downed a glass of wine as well. However, he had to abandon his freshly lit cigarette after just one drag sent him into a coughing fit. Yeah, it'd be a few long, hard days until he could do that again.

Now, with everything said and done, he had no reason to go back to Sniper's van ever again (as long as he didn't get stuck in any more storms).

But what did he do?

Exactly that.

 

A knock at the door of his camper—dry this time. Deja vu.

Sniper opened the door, expecting Scout begging for a ride to town (we just ran out of chips at base, c'mon!), Soldier telling him to come to lunch (unless it was Engineer's turn to cook, no thanks), or Medic asking for a test subject (please no more baboon uteruses or acts of defiance against God), or…

But lo and behold, it was the person he expected the least, yet wanted the most.

"Hello, bushman."

Sniper's expression was unreadable behind his shooting glasses. "Forget something?"

"Non. I would just like to say.. thank you for the past few days. You're not as horrible as I thought you were."

Sniper cracked a smile, leaning against the doorway. "You're not so bad yourself, mate."

Spy nodded, face neutral. "I also came to ask.. would you like to spend more time together?"

The other man's eyebrows raised way past his glasses, which he lowered to shoot Spy an incredulous look. "Lemme get this straight. _You_.. want to spend more time with.. _me?_ Those two days weren't enough, eh?"

"I must admit, you are one of the least insufferable mercenaries on the team." Spy brushed off his suit. "For once, I did not find myself wanting to die during our time together, even despite the circumstances. It was nice. If you were anyone else, I'd most likely have walked back into the storm."

Sniper pushed his glasses back up. "Well, isn't that sweet? But, yeah. I'd like to hang out, mate. What did you have in mind?"

Spy clasped his hands together. "Well…"

 

And that was how the two of them ended up on the road, heading down to town.

Sniper softly half-hummed, half-sang along to the radio, leaving Spy to look out the window to hide his smile.

When they arrived, Sniper hopped out first, offering a hand to the other (who insisted he could get out of a van without help, then stumbled ungracefully as he did). They strolled down the sidewalk, sun pleasantly beaming down on them, looking for something that caught their eye. The first thing that did: a clothing shop. Spy wordlessly entered, giving Sniper no choice but to follow.

"You need some new clothes," Spy commented, looking back at his teammate—his plain red button-up and grey-brown slacks looked beyond lackluster compared to the other's expensive suit.

"Is that why you took me out here, eh? Just to pick at my fashion?"

"Mon ami, I did not take you out here; you were the one who drove."

"Oh, piss off."

Spy smirked, running his hand along a rack of clothing until he pulled something out—a brown genuine leather vest; much like Sniper's, but better (according to fashion-expert Spy). "This is nice, yes?" As he held it up to Sniper's chest, Sniper grabbed at the price tag, whistling at the high digits.

"Yeah, it's nice alright," he agreed, pushing it away. "Way too nice for my bank account."

"But not for mine." The smug smirk returned to Spy's face, leaving the other to connect the dots.

"Holy dooley—" Sniper awkwardly paced after him as he folded the vest over his arm and continued to the next rack. "You're not seriously gonna—"

"Oh, but I am, bushman."

"Mate." Sniper stood in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. "You really don't have to—"

"Oh, I know I don't," Spy interrupted, turning and fingering at the rack of jackets. "But I want to."

Sniper laughed in sheer disbelief. "Why? Why would you _ever_ — Why in the bloody world would you spend that much money on me?"

"To repay you," he answered simply, inspecting a large army jacket. As if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Holy—" Sniper was practically sweating at this point. "Mate, I'm not complainin', but.. I just don't think a two night stay and a bowl of stew is worth this much."

"Sniper, my dear friend," Spy said (making the other man's heart skip a beat—was he really a dear friend already?), holding up another shirt to him, "it was priceless."

So was the cheesy grin on Sniper's face; Spy couldn’t help but burn the image into his mind and smile back.

 

After their shopping spree—in which Spy practically bought Sniper a whole new wardrobe (while Sniper got the other a watch that actually tells the time)—they dropped off their bags in the van and continued their stroll around town. Sniper was surprised at how goofy the other could be; he saw Spy’s prominent stoic side, his hidden soft side, and now a new side was revealing itself in the form of unexpected jokes and jabs. He poked fun at their teammates, the BLU team, and surprisingly, himself. Everything was in good nature. For once.

“Scout,” Spy said in an impression of their favorite purple assistant, “Pauling here. I have a special contract for you. I need you.. to touch my boobies—”

Sniper erupted into laughter, the rest of Spy’s sentence lost under the other man’s raucous voice.

“Bloody hell, that’s exactly what Scout would say if _he_ was doing the impression!”

“Oh, gee, Miss Pauling!” Spy continued, now in a Scout impression, “I dunno, I’ve got LOADS of other women askin’ me to touch _their_ boobies, but maybe I can fit you into my schedule..”

Sniper’s laugh turned into a wheeze, then a cough. Spy snickered as he pat the other man on the back.

“Don’t die on me now, the night is not even over yet!”

Sniper hacked out a revolting ball of phlegm right onto the sidewalk. Spy didn’t try to hide his disgust _or_ his laugh. “Oh?” Sniper wiped his mouth. “You got more planned, mate?”

“Just one more thing..” Spy took Sniper by the hand he hadn’t used to wipe his mouth, leading him across the street; Sniper’s face heated up at the sudden contact and he hoped and prayed that his palms wouldn’t get sweaty.

 

All Sniper could do was gawk as he was pulled into the fanciest looking restaurant he’d ever seen in his life.

“Holy dooley,” he murmured to no one in particular.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” the host greeted. “What name would the reservation be under?”

“We have no reservation,” Spy replied. Sniper continued to stare at the enormous chandeliers.

“I’m sorry sir, this restaurant is by reservation onl—”

The shuffling of paper.

“I-Is this a thousand dollars?”

“Is it enough?”

“..Right this way, gentlemen.”

Spy physically pulled Sniper out of his trance, arm in his, and followed the host to their table. Spy pulled out a chair for the other man, who was still in a bit of a wordless stupor, before sitting across from him.

The host placed two menus down, clasping his hands together. “Anything to drink?”

“Chateau,” Spy answered, beginning to look through the menu (as Sniper was still looking around the whole place, eyes darting from chandelier to chandelier).

A nod. “Two glasses?”

“The whole bottle, monsieur.”

The host’s eyes widened. “Sure thing, sir. I’ll be back in just a moment.” He quickly shuffled off.

Spy eyed his friend from behind his menu. “Can you read?”

Sniper snapped out of it. “Wha—”

“Just wondering.” Spy smirked. “You haven’t looked at your menu yet.”

“Oh. Oops.” He hastily picked up the said menu, opening it and immediately raising his eyebrows at the selections. “Jeez, this stuff is..”

“Fancy?” the other offered. He chuckled, “Used to eating mystery meat and canned food, hmm?”

Sniper hid his grin behind his menu. “Maybe. This is a real change of pace.” He suddenly lowered the menu, a troubled look on his face as he reached across the table to put a hand on Spy’s wrist. Spy blinked. “Mate, y’know I don’t have that much money..”

Spy gave a dismissive wave of his free hand. “I do.”

“Are you sure?” His grip on Spy’s wrist tightened. “I mean, are you sure it’s alright? I feel bad—”

“Do not,” Spy assured, tone a bit harsh and unfitting for the kind gesture.

“Are you _really_ sure? I think you’ve repaid me five times over already.”

Spy put down his menu as well, placing his hand over Sniper’s and giving it a firm squeeze. “Sniper, maybe I want to do more than repay you. Maybe I want to treat you.”

They looked into each other’s eyes, saying more than words could ever convey. Sniper’s glasses were off for once, and Spy could clearly see his eyes. They were a pretty, pale blue-gray, with dilated pupils. A bit tired looking (amplified by the dark circles under them), but with an alluring shine nonetheless. He had taken his hat off earlier as well, revealing his scruffy brown hair that was a bit longer in the back; Spy kind of wanted to run his fingers through it and maybe tug at the longer strands a little..

Two glasses were abruptly placed in front of them.

Spy nearly jumped, he took his hand off Sniper’s—and Sniper did the same—as the host poured wine in both of their glasses before setting the bottle down.

“Someone will be with you to take your orders soon,” the host said, doing a subtle bow. “Enjoy your meal.”

Spy nodded as the other man left. “Thank you.”

Sniper uneasily fiddled with his menu. “Err, could we share somethin’? I know you said it’s fine and all, but I still feel bad.”

Spy sighed, but there was no exasperation behind it. “If it’ll get you to shut up.”

“It might,” he chuckled.

They agreed on a medium-rare steak with a side of roasted mushrooms, asparagus, and mashed potatoes. In the meantime, they munched on bread and slurped (well, Sniper did most of the slurping; Spy was much quieter) on soup. Between bites they made simple small talk, discussing what kind of music they like, their hobbies, their favorite movies and shows, weirdest place they've ever peed in.. Blah blah blah. Normal stuff.

Soon enough, their food arrived, and the conversation dimmed as their hunger took over. Sniper plucked a piece of asparagus from the plate with his fingers, earning some odd glances from other patrons and even the waiter as he walked away. He stuck it in his mouth before picking up his fork and knife.

Spy picked up his utensils as well, ready to cut into the meat—

Sniper quickly batted his knife away with his own, planting his fork into the steak.

"I'll cut it," he insisted, knife already digging in. "Just sit back and relax, mate."

A scoff. "What, you do not think I can cut my own food? I'm a child who needs someone else to cut it for me?" Sniper saw him grinning out of the corner of his eye.

He looked up from his mission, craning his neck to peek at Spy's chair. "Bloody hell, they forgot your booster seat."

Spy snorted, then promptly covered his mouth with his hand to muffle any further noises. Sniper bit his lip in an attempt not to smile. Cute.

Once the other was done cutting the steak into bite-sized pieces, Spy planted his fork into one and began to raise it to his mouth

"Hey!" Sniper pouted; Spy paused, meat mere inches from his lips. "..I wanted that piece."

Spy looked at him, to his fork, then back again. Without a word, he stretched his arm across the table and held his fork to Sniper's mouth.

Sniper could feel his face instantly heat up—and he really hoped it wasn't visible. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything.. But it was too late now.

He tentatively took the meat between his teeth, trying not to get his mouth on Spy's silverware. Once it was off the fork, Spy quickly retracted his arm, busying himself with taking another piece.

"Thanks," Sniper mumbled, beginning to chew. "Holy— This is amazin'!"

In his excitement, he stabbed at another piece, then replicated Spy's previous gesture. To even things out, of course. Spy _took the whole end of the fork in his mouth, holy dooley,_ sliding the meat off it and chewing slowly. He nodded in agreement, making hums of satisfaction. If Sniper's face got any hotter, it'd probably burst into flames. He didn't wipe the fork off.

They continued their dinner in silence for a few minutes before Sniper got the nerve to pick the conversation back up.

"So." He swallowed his mashed potatoes. "Since you're a Spy and all.. you already know my real name, yeah?"

"Of course."

"..You think I'll ever get to know yours?"

For once, the answer wasn't _fat chance._ Spy pondered for a moment, prodding at the pile of mushrooms. He met Sniper's gaze after what felt like eternity. "Maybe, bushman." A grin. "Maybe."

 

After the fanciest, most expensive dinner of his life, Sniper was spent. Spy was as well, loudly yawning on the walk back to the van. He may or may not have sleepily bumped into Sniper a few times along the way; who could blame him, he was daydreaming about sleeping in his own bed!

Bucked up and tuckered out, Spy rested his head against the seat, watching the shake of the bobblehead on the dash from the corner of his eye. He yawned again, closing his eyes. Juuust for a second.

"Someone's ready for bed, eh?" Sniper mused after stealing a quick glance at the other man.

"Mm," Spy murmured. Wise words.

Sniper continued driving in silence, not wanting to disturb the other. He turned the radio on, though at a very low volume.

 _Mr. Sandman, bring me a dr_ —

"Gah, not this song again."

Click.

_Love is a burning thing_

_And it makes a fiery ring_

_Bound by wild desire_

_I fell into a ring of fire_

Sniper turned it up just a teeny bit. But just before that, he could've sworn he heard Spy snore.

_I fell into a burning ring of fire_

_I went down, down, down and the flames went higher_

_And it burns, burns, burns_

_The ring of fire,_

He took a quick peek, and his suspicions were confirmed—Spy was turned towards him, eyes closed, mouth hung open the tiniest amount with a bit of drool dripping from it.. Sleeping beauty indeed. A faint snore sounded from him. Sniper grinned to himself, directing his eyes back to the road.

_The ring of fire._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry 4 not replying to comments i am shy. but i read all of them!!!! and i give u all kisses. mwah.
> 
> also take a drink every time sniper says or starts to say holy dooley


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning.. this chapter has a bit of vague, implied sexual content towards the end

A few weeks passed; weeks full of many trips to town, evenings spent in the rec room, time relaxing outside, ect… But most important: the endless laughs and smiles from both parties. They felt alive.

The two of them had just finished up dinner and having a smoke break just outside the base.

Cigarette already in his mouth, Sniper realized he had forgotten one crucial detail. Spy watched with an eyebrow raised as the other man grumbled and patted his pockets.

"Crap," he muttered. "Forgot my lighter."

Spy sighed, fetching his from his pocket and flicking it open. He held it to the end of Sniper's cigarette. "Oh, monsieur Sniper, what would you do without me?"

"What indeed, Spy." Sniper exhaled fully, smoke dissipating into the air. "What indeed."

They sat in a comfortable silence, Spy in his own little world as Sniper gazed up at the sky.

"Nice night," he commented. Spy nodded. "Hey, you used to live in France, right?"

They stared at each other.

"..Okay, yeah, dumb question. Was there a lot of light pollution?"

"There was.. a fair amount," Spy answered, flicking his ashes onto the ground.

"I bet you've never seen stars like this, then, eh?"

Spy followed the other's gaze, looking up at the brilliantly lit night sky. The stars twinkled invitingly, and he could see them reflected in Sniper's eyes. They kept the same shine as he turned to look at Spy, cheesy grin spread across his face.

"Aren't they gorgeous?"

 _Aren't you?_ Spy thought. He swallowed. Where did that come from? He coughed, glancing back up at the sky.

"They really are."

When they were done, they headed inside to the rec room. It was movie night—also known as one of the few rare occasions the whole team would get together _and_ behave. Usually, Sniper and Spy would sit in their respective chairs, but tonight there was a wordless agreement to sit together on the couch. Technically, the couch was only meant for three people, yet that didn’t stop Soldier and Demoman from squeezing in next to them. Sniper ended up a bit pressed against Spy, but the other didn’t seem to mind.

Tonight’s feature film: The Blob. As such, a lot of the mercenaries huddled together for comfort; Medic was safe in Heavy’s arms, Pyro took solace in Engineer’s lap, and hell, even Demo and Soldier were holding each other for dear life. Scout was alone, insisting he could handle “some stupid movie”, but he may or may not have been sucking his thumb.

Spy glanced over at Sniper, who was rather engrossed in the film. His eyes travelled down to Sniper’s hand, which was gripping the couch cushion. If his grip were any tighter, his nails would probably tear a seam.

Spy moved his hand from his lap, fingers slowly trailing down to Sniper’s wrist. When he reached his hand, he hovered over it with uncertainty for a moment. As soon as he finally made contact, Sniper instantly seemed to relax. He released the couch cushion and allowed Spy to interlace their fingers. His eyes were still glued to the TV for a few more seconds before he realized what happened; he looked over at the other man with a crooked grin. Spy gave his hand an affectionate squeeze in response.

The change in their heart rates was only partially due to the movie.

 

After they said their goodnights, Sniper headed out to his van, and Spy to his room. Even with how late it was, sleep was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment.

He poured himself a glass of wine to the brim before hunkering down beside his fireplace and holding the end of a cigarette to the gentle flame. There was a lot to think about.

How did he feel about Sniper?

Well, Sniper was a pleasant man to be around, he'd give him that. Very polite and selfless. Good sense of humor, too; he could poke fun at himself, that was a good trait to have. They always had fun together; there was never a dull moment when he was around.

But how did he _feel_ about Sniper?

He fiddled with his balaclava. He enjoyed being Sniper's friend.. Would he enjoy being his _boyfri_ —

Slow down.

He nervously gulped down his wine. Did he have genuine feelings for Sniper, or was he just……. lonely?

He'd hate to admit it. He could have any woman (or man, even) he wanted. Yet no matter how many he had.. there would still be an empty place in his heart. A void that couldn't be filled by just _anyone_. But.. maybe Snipe—

He shook his head. Maybe he was just confusing the giddy feelings of a new friendship for something else. Tracing his finger along the rim of his glass, he frowned before refilling it. Maybe he should sleep on this whole situation for a healthy eight hours. Or he could ask Medic to put him in a coma. The latter seemed more appealing at this point.

Spy swirled the crimson liquid around in his glass, unaware that the man in question was having the exact same dilemma.

 

Sniper anxiously paced around the inside of his van, a million different scenarios running through his head.

Was Spy.. flirting with him? Maybe he's just affectionate and touchy with people he's closer to. But, gah!— How would he know, he was the only one Spy was actually friends with! He had nobody else to compare their interactions to! He put his head in his hands, tugging at his hair.

He was really, _really_ not used to this attention. He didn't wanna jump the gun and just assume Spy was interested in him. What if he returned the supposed advances and ruined their relationship? He would hate himself until the end of time. Bugger.

He stopped, taking a deep breath. Alright, suppose Spy _was_ interested in him…

He'd.. be completely fine with it, to say the least. He started pacing again. Would they be good together? Spy was a great guy and all, but maybe they'd be better off as friends.. Or would they? He wiped the sweat off his upper lip.

Maybe ‘great guy’ was a bit of an overstatement. He could be a bit of an asshole at times—would he have the same attitude towards Sniper? He hadn't for a while now (ever since that rainy two night stay at the Sniper Hotel).. but things could change in the blink of an eye.

This was a bit too much. He stepped outside, shaking hands pulling a cigarette pack from his pocket. Crickets chirped nearby, chorusing his laments.

Maybe he should pack his bags and head back to Australia, forget this whole thing ever happened.

His lighter came to life with a spark.

Nah, the Administrator would kill him before he got too far. Or Miss Pauling, rather, since she did all the dirty work.

He blew his smoke up at the sky, at the stars him and Spy had watched just hours before..

He’d just have to tough it out, roll with the punches.

_Whatever happens, happens._

 

A few more weeks went by. Weeks full of strange internal struggles neither of them had ever faced before.

They were having yet another smoke break, as was custom for them after a meal—for Spy at least. Sniper didn’t always tag along; he tried not to smoke too often. A few times, he had tried to just hang out and talk, but wasn’t able to resist the urge to light up with the other man. After that, it was either show up and smoke, or stay inside and.. don’t.

Sniper frantically patted his pockets. Spy raised an eyebrow, pulling his cigarette from his mouth.

“Forget something?”

“Oh, you’re gonna laugh at me for this one, mate.”

“Go on.”

“..I forgot my pack.”

“Ah yes, the man who forgot his cigarettes to the cigarette break.”

“Ah, piss off and gimme one.”

To his surprise, Spy held out his own cigarette. Sniper gingerly took it from him, placing it between his lips and taking a long drag. He gave it back, still holding his breath.

Sniper nearly coughed as the other man took the cigarette into his mouth. _An indirect kiss._

He cleared his throat. "Looks like another storm's comin'," he remarked. Though it was the afternoon, it was darker outside than it should've been due to the gloomy clouds overhead. "Wanna spend a few nights in my van?"

Spy chuckled, passing the cigarette to him again. He was never gonna live that down, huh? "Shut up."

"Make me."

There was a dangerous glint in Spy's eye. "Oh, I have many ways of doing just that."

"Yeah? Why don't you put your money where your mouth is, eh?"

Spy biting his lip didn't go unnoticed. "I have many times before. Don't think I won't do it again."

"I better not turn my back to you for a few days, eh?"

There was a moment of silence before they both guffawed. Spy snorted, covering his mouth and turning away.

"How come you always get all flustered when you snort?" Sniper asked, catching him off guard.

"..I don't know," he answered honestly, "I guess I think it's a bit.. silly."

"When did you start carin' about bein' silly around me?" He beamed. "..I think it's cute, mate." He took a gamble. Rolled the dice.

Spy scoffed, "Cute?"

Snake eyes.

He ashed the cigarette. "I do not share your views. But.. thanks anyways, bushman."

Oh, actually, two sixes!

Sniper gave him a crooked smile. "Any time, cutie."

 

Spy retired to his room for the night shortly after dinner. His steps were a little unsteady; so what if he had done a bit of day drinking?

He managed to pour himself another glass of wine, vision unfocusing as he watched the dark liquid spill into the cup.

He quickly finished it off, a warm tingle spreading across his face as he poured another. Today had been.. odd. So Sniper officially thought he was cute—or at least, he thought one aspect of him was. This was good. His breathing became heavier. This was progress.

He'd admit it now, in his tipsy haze: he _was_ lonely.

And you know what else?

He _did_ like Sniper.

He was perfect.

Spy fumbled with the buttons of his suit jacket, shrugging it off and simply tossing it onto his couch. A future, more sober version of him was definitely going to be pissed about that. But hey, he wasn't there at the moment, so who cared?

Next came the shoes, which he simply kicked off and let them fly into a corner of his room. He undid his tie and pulled off his undershirt (which suffered the same fate as the couch-ridden jacket) before rummaging through his closet for what he was looking for. He moved aside several identical suits before he found it: the faded BLU shirt Sniper had given him all that time ago. He pulled it on and gave the collar a long sniff before collapsing onto his bed.

Shirt still over his nose, he unbuttoned his pants and kicked them off—leaving him in just his underwear. Classy. He crawled under the thick blankets, still drinking in the faint scent of Sniper from the worn fabric. Gosh, he wanted to smell it from the source, he wanted to _taste_ Sniper, he—

Oh, man. He was in deep.

Heat was pooling in.. certain areas of his body. His hand snaked under the covers.

He thought about Sniper, his mannerisms, his _voice_ , that low, rumbly voice that he wanted to hear directly in his ear..

He bit his lip. He thought about the way Sniper tried to hide his smile at times, but when he didn’t, he would grin wide and a bit crookedly, his sharp canines showing. When he genuinely smiled, he lit up the whole room, and when he _laughed.._ Oh, man. Spy could listen to that raucous laugh forever. Music to his ears. He wanted to cuddle up with Sniper, practically drape himself across his lap, and tell him stupid jokes to make him laugh. He wanted to wear Sniper’s clothes; could you believe it?! Spy, _thousand dollar suit Spy_ , wanted to wear Sniper’s shirt.. and nothing else.

He could picture it now—him and Sniper in bed together (whether it was Spy’s king-sized bed or Sniper’s one-man loft didn’t matter, as long as they were together).. Spy had stolen the other’s shirt, which was only fair, since Sniper had stolen his heart. Sniper would chuckle and tell him to give it back, to which Spy would reply with a shoddy impression of the Australian. Which, in turn, would escalate Sniper’s laugh to a cackle. Spy would beam, and maybe receive a little kiss..

His mind traveled to more.. risqué places. The feeling of Sniper’s lips on his neck, or his hands travelling down his hips, hot breath against his skin..

Laying there in his post-deed haze, he only felt the tiniest prickle of shame.

He had to do something.

 

The next day, it was a bit hard to look Sniper in the eyes. Spy opted to linger around the others for most of the day, trying to calm himself by eavesdropping on the drama between Soldier and Scout.

“I didn’t take your freakin’ shovel, moron!”

“You lying coward! Tell me the truth before I beat it out of you!”

The distinctive clang of steel.

“..With the shovel you just pulled out? The one that I ‘took’?”

“Ye— Oh. Huh… How did you slip it back onto my person, you commie bastard?! You cannot fool me, I know you still took it!”

The sound of Scout’s shrill scream echoed through the hall. Spy shook his head, disappearing off to the rec room in search of more gossip.

He bumped into Sniper in the doorway.

“Sorry,” Sniper huffed instinctively, tilting his hat up to see who he had just run into. He immediately lit up once he realized. “Oh, hey! I was just lookin’ for you.”

“Oh? I was looking for you, too.” Well, not exactly, but.. He’d take advantage of this happy little coincidence.

A crooked grin. “For what?”

Spy stood there for a moment, eyes meeting anything except Sniper’s own.

He took a deep breath.

Now or never.

“..Would you like to come to my room?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe... one chapter left...!!!! yall ready for this?!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> children_cheering_sfx.mp4  
> it is Finished....  
> warning for hinted offscreen sex.. lul

Sniper hesitantly settled onto Sniper's couch; this was the first time he was in the other man's room. He whistled as his gaze raked over the fancy decorations and fixtures.

Spy eyed his wine glasses for a second before deciding this would be best with clear, sober minds.

"So." Sniper leaned back as Spy sat next to him. He almost kicked his feet up onto the table out of force of habit, but remembered whose room he was in. "What's the occasion for invitin' me to your fancy schmancy room?"

Spy wasn't one to beat around the bush. He turned, gingerly placing his hand on Sniper's knee, and quickly got it out before he could change his mind.

"Bushman, I am going to get straight to the point." Sniper met his intense stare. "I have feelings for you."

Straight to the point, indeed.

Sniper wasn't sure he heard him right.

He was a man of few words; but he usually at least had _something!_ Spy's confession left him utterly speechless. He felt Spy's hand twitch.

Sniper did the only thing he _could_ do, really.

He leaned forward. Spy followed his lead, closing the inches between them.

Their lips met tenderly at first, but Spy reciprocated with an unexpected ferocity. Er, well, maybe it was a _bit_ expected, considering he just admitted his crush.

Spy latched onto the other man's vest, gloved fingers digging into the fabric as he climbed into his lap. Sniper fell back against the cushions, but they didn’t break contact, not even for a second. He tried to meet Spy’s fierce energy; he snaked his arms around the other man’s back, pulling him as close as physically possible. They only paused when the need for oxygen became apparent.

“Mon dieu,” Spy panted, wiping the spit from the corner of his mouth. “I take it you feel the same?”

“You got me.” Sniper gave him one of those crooked grins the other adored so much. “‘Mon dieu’, what’s that, a pet name?”

Spy laughed breathlessly. “Non, it is ‘my god’. But, if you want one.. How does ‘mon chèri’ sound?”

“Sounds good, even though I don’t have a bloody clue what it means.”

Spy traced his thumb along Sniper’s cheek. “Then I guess I’ll have to give you some lessons, hm?”

They kissed again, tongues delving into each other’s mouths; Spy tasted like red wine and smoke, while Sniper tasted like.. apricots? Interesting.

Sniper felt.. something of Spy’s pressing against his thigh, and became aware of the tightness in his own pants. He broke away from the kiss momentarily to ask, “D’you wanna—”

“ _S'il te pla_ _î_ _t!_ ”

 

Spy untangled himself from the mess of blankets, reaching around to find a shirt, any shirt. His hand landed on Sniper’s red button-up. What a coincidence.. He pulled it on and sat at the edge of the bed, rummaging around in their pile of clothes for his suit jacket, and in turn, his cigarettes and lighter.

Sniper rolled over, crossing his arms and resting his head on them, watching the other man with a fond smile.

Spy met his gaze, a smirk tugging at his lips after he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"Jacques."

"Hm?"

He took another long drag. "That's my name.. Mundy."

Sniper's smile widened as he sat up, scooting next to the other man. "I was wonderin' when you were gonna pull that on me," he murmured into Spy's neck, followed by a soft kiss. "Anyway, I like it. Suits you."

"As with yours." Spy pressed a kiss to his forehead. He reached over to the ashtray on the nightstand and snuffed out the remains of his cigarette before pulling Sniper back onto the mattress with him. He crawled onto Sniper and straddled his waist, looking down at him with a catlike expression.

"Would you like to see something?"

Sniper didn't have the slightest idea what _something_ entailed, but he was on board. "Of course, love."

Spy peeled off his balaclava.

And holy dooley, it was a sight to behold.

Spy had light brown hair (like Scout's…. huh) with gray streaks, messy from wearing the mask all day. His hair was a bit longer than expected, a lock falling just past his eyebrow. Sniper wanted to brush it back, but that could wait, because…

There was a patch of missing hair on the upper left side of his face, replaced with burnt skin. The scars extended down to about ear level (where the skin there was burnt as well).

Sniper reached out and pulled Spy closer, gingerly touching the other man's cheek and feeling the odd, leathery texture beneath his fingers.

"Respawn glitch," he explained, placing his hand on Sniper's wrist and leaning into his touch. "That is why I was out sick that one week last year; it got rather nastily infected."

Sniper propped himself up on his elbows and pressed a kiss to the scarred skin. "You're bloody gorgeous."

"Flattery will get you nowhere." Spy gave him a peck on the lips, to which the other reacted with a shit-eating grin.

"Oh, but I think it did."

Spy rolled his eyes, pushing the other man back into the mattress before hopping off of him. He strolled over to the radio, flicking it on before heading to his wine cabinet.

_—w you look so good (Look so good)_

_You know you got me goin' now (Got me goin')_

Sniper shot up. "Oh, I love this song!"

_Just like I know you would (Like I knew you would)_

Spy snickered, pouring himself a glass. "Do you, now?"

He didn't have time to take a sip—he yelped as Sniper excitedly pulled him into a dancing position. He brushed Spy's hair back before lacing their fingers together.

_Well, shake it up, baby, now (Shake it up, baby)_

_Twist and shout (Twist and shout)_

_C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, baby, now (Come on, baby)_

_Come on and work it on out (Work it on out)_

Spy threw his head back and laughed, making no effort to hide his snorts as they less-than-gracefully spun around the room. Sniper beamed.

_Well, you twist, you little girl (Twist, little girl)_

_You know you twist so fine (Twist so fine)_

_Come on and twist a little closer now (Twist a little closer)_

_And let me know that you're mine (Let me know you're mine)_

A few months ago, If anyone had told them they'd eventually be dancing together to the Beatles in their underwear, they'd laugh in the other person's face. Especially Spy.

Yet there they were.

Sniper can't help it; now that he finally can, he pulls Spy into another passionate kiss. They'd probably never get tired of that.

Looking into each other's bright eyes as they pulled away, they both grinned, knowing they made the right choice.

It was all they could've ever wanted, and then some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thus concludes the tale of sniper and spy. thanks for tuning in :o)  
> teehee happy pride month


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